


backseat fracas

by lipsticksunrise



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Dream Bubble Sex (Homestuck), F/F, Unrequited Kismesissitude, it's my og brand: sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsticksunrise/pseuds/lipsticksunrise
Summary: “Yeah, I hate you too,” Terezi says, but it’s not true, it never has been.
Relationships: Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	backseat fracas

**Author's Note:**

> back to my roots i guess! 
> 
> content warnings in ending notes if you want to see them (it's nothing too bad but i figured i'd put them there just in case)

The soapy, bitter scent of the dream bubble is so faint that Terezi almost misses it. Almost. Paradox space sits still and heavy around her as she whips her head to the side - sharp, still sharp, she refuses to let this unhurried, lethargic place get under her skin - and sniffs. Definitely a dream bubble. Weird. She hasn’t found one in a while, and it’s crossed her mind more than once that maybe space is keeping her alone out here. 

But, undeniably, there’s a dream bubble on her right, approaching faster and faster, that bitter scent growing stronger and stronger until the bubble’s hazy membrane pulls Terezi in. 

Terezi powers off her wings and lets her feet touch down on the ground. It’s solid, probably some sort of stone, although it’s hard to make out much of anything about her surroundings through the overwhelming scent of blood. Hm. This should be interesting. Time for an investigation, call the court into session, and ready the noose. There’s been a murder, and it was a bad one. Of course, whoever was murdered is probably still hanging around (thanks, dream bubbles), and by that token, you know which one, the one spinning heads over tails in the middle of the air, the murderer might be here too. It all depends on how bad things got, all depends on which type of luck Terezi’s hoping for today. 

Carefully, keeping her face tilted up so that she can smell anyone who might come near, Terezi crouches down and pokes a finger into the blood. It’s still wet, and it clings to her skin like it’s trying to suffocate her sense of touch. Whoever this memory belongs to could have cleaned it all up with a single thought, so why is it still here, still dripping from - a sniff - a solid metal desk onto the floor? 

This memory either belongs to a gloating murderer, a melodramatic victim, or someone still reeling from their death. Two out of three sound too much like someone else, and Terezi does  _ not  _ get her hopes up as she raises her finger to her mouth and licks it. 

Blue. Unmistakably, painfully, familiarly blue. Terezi chokes. It would be a textbook BLUH! if she wasn’t instantly panicked, senses switching to high alert and heart rate skyrocketing.  _ (Pchooo,  _ whispers a back corner of her mind. Terezi ignores it.)

Slowly, Terezi lowers her hand onto her knee for balance and stands. Unless paradox space is toying with her and sending her into the memory of some other blueblood, this… Vriska might be nearby. Maybe not  _ Terezi’s  _ Vriska, as much as any version of Vriska can belong to anyone, but maybe someone close enough. Maybe. All of the blood is concerning, though, to say the least. Okay. The investigation has to continue. 

Terezi pushes the lingering taste of blue, blue blood to the back of her mind and does her best to smell past the thick, coppery scent. A block. Stone walls, stone floor, thin curtains over a window looking out into nothingness. The clickclack of computer keys, someone is here, and judging by the lack of exclamation, they haven’t noticed Terezi yet. 

Clickclackclick, Terezi turns and - to say that she smells  _ home  _ would be stupid. Home smells like the wind through the trees and soft pinks and purples and not blood, not stone or metal or fortune, but… the scent of Vriska, her back turned, no metallic arm, no cybernetic eye, just  _ her  _ and blood, blood, blood, smells like a place Terezi wants to stay. Home is where the bloodpusher is, and for a moment, all Terezi knows is the way hers is pounding.

Terezi bites back a greeting. She still doesn’t know what’s going on here. She’s many things, but she is  _ not  _ a sloppy detective. Vriska is either the murderer or… or the murdered, and judging by the blood, it’s not a hard call. But  _ how _ , and who?

Terezi takes another slow sniff around the block. Stone, blood, and torn FLARP sheets littered across the floor. Shards of - eight balls, yes, but mixed in are shards of phenolic resin. A broken cue ball. A dead Vriska with just a little bit less time under her belt than the one Terezi last knew, and - 

Oh, fuck. Terezi knows this scene. It certainly helps with an investigation when you’re the fucking perp, huh. This Vriska must have been just a hair closer to the cue ball when it exploded, taking more than an arm and an eye, and so this is Terezi’s fault. How long has Vriska been here, sitting in this stagnant memory, blood still wet on the floor? 

This is a Vriska that Terezi killed. Terezi knows, logically, that she should leave. There has to be another out here, her Vriska is out here somewhere, but she can’t quite lift her feet from the floor or keep herself from saying, in a voice rusty from what feels like sweeps of disuse, “Vriska?”

Vriska whips her head around immediately - sharp, still sharp - and freezes. “Pyrope.”

  
“Not the one that killed you,” Terezi says quickly, because she knows Vriska and she knows that the tiny, tiny bit that that fact matters is the her only chance of staying here. “I’m - how long have you been here?”   


The question is swallowed up by the blood pooling around Terezi’s feet as she unconsciously steps forward. She doesn’t need to see to feel Vriska’s cold, white gaze on her. “What’s with the glasses? Who the fuck are you?”   


Terezi takes a deep breath. “I’m from the alpha timeline,” she explains. “I - I didn’t kill you. In my timeline, you just got hurt, and you got Tavros to control my lusus, so that she would control me and I would go look into the sun and go blind, so… glasses.”

There’s a beat, then another, then another. Terezi mentally counts to eight and knows she’s still in time with Vriska when the silence ends just as she starts to think  _ nine.  _ “I blinded you?”   
  
“Yeah. It was a fair trade, I guess, in my timeline.”

There’s an awful sound, half metal scraping stone, half shoe squelching through something wet, and then Vriska is standing right in front of Terezi, and - she’s fucked up. Blood pools and drips from behind her white eyes, caking her from head to toe and obscuring the symbol she was always so proud to have, and it twists something in Terezi to know that Vriska is actively choosing this appearance. 

Vriska opens her mouth to say something - ghosts shouldn’t breathe, but the motion sends a wave of stale air gusting out across Terezi’s face - but Terezi is already speaking. “Why haven’t you cleaned up in here? How long have you been like this?”   
  
Vriska snorts, a derisive sound that yanks Terezi right back to the days when the Scourge Sisters were inseparable, when they could beat lowbloods without breaking a sweat, when they were friends. “Maybe I like it like this, Pyrope. Not your place to judge, not when you fucking  _ murdered  _ me. I was going to be important, you know that? I was going to be someone. Get out of here. Do something with my fucking life. And then you fucking ruined that.”

Terezi can’t help the way she winces at that. “Vriska, I told you - this wasn’t  _ me,  _ I… I would never kill you again.”

A single eyebrow, raised. Arms, crossed. “Again?”

“In the - it doesn’t matter, okay? I killed you once, sure, but then I literally spent my last fucking breath figuring out a way to go back and make sure I didn’t, because I knew having you around was the only way I could make things work out. And now I’m here because I want to find you. Um,  _ my _ you.”

Silence. Eight beats, enough for two measures of a waltz with just a bit left over, enough for Terezi to seriously consider leaving, enough for Vriska’s eyebrow to settle back into its usual place. “You’re looking for me after you killed me in multiple different timelines.” 

All Terezi has to respond to that is a nod. She’s pathetic, she knows, but she also knows that Vriska will never call her out on that. 

Vriska laughs, a single burst of sound that makes the air taste like blood, blood, blood, and accusation. It’s a sound Terezi has never heard directed at her before. “That’s kind of pathetic, Pyrope, what the hell? Clearly the you in my timeline at least had enough guts to keep me dead, and here  _ you  _ are.”

Vriska takes a step forward. Terezi takes a step back. Her finger is on the button to reignite her wings - she can’t stay here, this Vriska is  _ nothing  _ like hers, okay, her Vriska wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t say that, she just has to get out of here, she’ll find someone else - but she doesn’t press down, not yet. The disgust in Vriska’s voice tastes dangerously pitch, and Terezi suddenly can’t find it in herself to move despite the plain fucking hurt that’s working its way through her body. “I’m not - you’re the pathetic one here. You’re wallowing in your own death when you could be anywhere you could imagine,” Terezi retorts. Her voice shakes. There is, or at least was, a line, once, and they’re both so far past it that even the road back to safety feels like uncharted waters. 

There are seven beats of silence before Vriska lunges forward. The blood on the floor sloshes and squelches under her feet, and Terezi can barely smell her direction before Vriska is on her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her flush against the wall. “I am  _ not  _ fucking pathetic,” Vriska snarls. Her voice is nastier than Terezi’s ever heard it before, filled with the rage of a life cut short before revenge and the frustration of a death spent on fruitless goals, and it would be terrifying if it didn’t feel so pitch.

Terezi can do pitch. Terezi  _ loves  _ pitch, and even if that was never how things were with her timeline’s Vriska, she’ll take what she can fucking get. A pitch fling before she disappears back out into space? Why not? She might never get anything like it again and -

“I don’t know too many versions of you,” Vriska hisses. Her voice washes over Terezi’s ear like the sound of drones, and she’s leaning in so close now that she’s all Terezi can smell. She smells like the blood still dripping languidly from her eyes, like home, like a last chance and a first mistake. “But I think I can definitively say that you’re my least favorite.”   
  
It hurts. It hurts more than the sun or anything in the game ever did, because nearly every Vriska knows every Terezi’s soft spots like the back of her hand. “Fuck you,” Terezi snaps. She twists, squirms, and fails to get out of Vriska’s grip. It’s bullshit, the situation is  _ bullshit _ , but it’s Vriska, and Terezi can’t help the way her bulge begins to take an interest in the proceedings.

Vriska leans in, impossibly closer, and a drop of blood falls onto Terezi’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you love to, Pyrope?”   


Terezi twists her shoulders, but Vriska’s grip isn’t budging. She glares up at Vriska and is careful to let her sharpest fangs poke out when she says, “I would, actually.”

“Kind of pathetic,” Vriska says, “doing this shit with a ghost,” but she’s the one that closes that last bit of distance, in the end. Her lips taste like blood and tacky lipstick, and her teeth nearly break Terezi’s lower lip open on their first pass. 

“Kind of pathetic being a ghost,” Terezi retorts, like she’s not the one that killed Vriska. She brings her knee up, unsure of where it’s going until it pushes its way in between Vriska’s thighs and keeps pushing up, up, up, until she can feel something wrigging against her leg. 

Vriska’s breath catches.  _ Got her.  _ “Shut up,” she says, but there’s a shake in her voice that definitely wasn’t there five seconds ago. Terezi doesn’t even need to say, “make me,” before Vriska does. 

Terezi returns every little nip from Vriska with one of her own, until whatever sits between them is better described as a fight than a kiss. Blue, blue, blue blood drips onto Terezi’s nose, drowning out every other smell. She hates it, she hates this Vriska, and she hates the ache between her legs. Fuck.

In a surprisingly smooth move, Vriska switches to holding onto both of Terezi’s wrists with one hand, her sharp nails digging into Terezi’s skin just enough to leave indentations, and slides her other hand up the back of Terezi’s shirt. The scent of blood disappears and is replaced with stone and the distinct, musky scent of an unsheathed bulge. Terezi’s breath catches, just a bit, in the back of her throat. 

“Your face still smells pretty fucked up,” Terezi says. She tosses her head back against the wall and shivers when Vriska starts biting at her neck. Gentle, gentle, then suddenly, drawing blood, and it’s rude, sure, but it’s true. The entire left half of her face looks a bit like one of Terezi’s early attempts at repairing torn scalemates by herself, like she took the blood away but left just enough scars to keep guilt tucked away in the back corner of Terezi’s gut.  _ You did this, don’t forget.  _

Vriska doesn’t bother with a response to that beyond the way her nails dig into Terezi’s back, just for a second. “Are you going to jet if I let go of your hands for a second?”   
  
There’s a moment where Terezi considers it; she can leave this place and never come back. There are other Vriskas out there. But then again, leaving’s really never been an option, has it? “... No.”

Vriska smirks and lets go of Terezi’s wrists. For a second, Terezi leaves them up above her head, the phantom - ha - sensation of Vriska’s hands still lingering, and then she brings them down and around the back of Vriska’s neck. She tugs Vriska closer and pushes her leg higher, and she grins when Vriska gasps. 

“Shit, Pyrope,” Vriska says. She’s quick to regain composure, especially considering how well Terezi can feel her bulge against her leg, and the hand she’s wound into Terezi’s hair yanks sharply. “We’re doing this, huh?”   
  
“We’re making it happen,” Terezi says, even though Vriska won’t get the joke, because really, there’s no other way to describe this. 

Vriska grins, her face contorting in ways it probably shouldn’t, and yanks Terezi forward again. She tastes like black licorice and the past, and Terezi suddenly wants her so much that it  _ hurts.  _ It also hurts when Vriska steps back and shoves her onto the floor, and it hurts when Vriska jumps, cat-like, onto the floor to straddle her. 

Terezi refuses to let on, though. She just goes with it when Vriska pushes her shirt up and runs her fingers over her grub scars, when Vriska slots one of her legs between Terezi’s thighs and Terezi wants to cry from the feeling. Fuck, fuck, fuck, her bulge is flipping its  _ shit  _ and she’s normally not one for this sort of thing but she keeps thinking about how it might feel for Vriska to fuck her. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this with  _ you _ ,” Vriska mutters. Her face is buried in the crook of Terezi’s neck, leaving kisses and bites on every inch of skin she can reach while her hips rock up, up, up against Terezi’s, and Terezi isn’t sure whether or not she meant to say that out loud. It would almost sound romantic if the word “you” wasn’t dripping with disgust. 

Terezi half-laughs, half-chokes down a sudden feeling of bile in her throat. “I can’t believe it any more than you can.”

Vriska sits up just enough for Terezi to be able to get the sense that she’s rolling her blank white eyes. “You just don’t shut up, huh?”

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it’s still Vriska, and the feeling has never been new, and Terezi thinks she might implode if she doesn’t get touched within the next two seconds. “Guess you haven’t been keeping me busy enough,” she retorts, rolling her hips up against Vriska’s in a way that better fucking get the point across.

“Guess not,” Vriska says. Her tone is abruptly low and something that one of Karkat’s romance novels would call sultry. It tastes like black coffee, and it sends a shiver of  _ something  _ directly to Terezi’s bulge. “Want me to fuck you, Pyrope?”   
  
Terezi attempts to arch one eyebrow, she’s cool, she’s casual, but both go up and she’s pretty sure she just looks incredulous. Her hands are sweaty, slippery, against Vriska’s cool, dead skin, and she knows she’s being a pretty lackluster blackrom partner right now, but - she feels frozen. It’s Vriska. Terezi’s long since learned her lesson about hurting her. “Are you offering?”   
  
Vriska grabs onto one of Terezi’s horns, right at the base where all of the nerves are, and squeezes. Terezi doesn’t yelp, but it’s a near thing. “ _ Fuck _ ,” she swears, “Vriska, c’mon-”

“C’mon?” Vriska repeats, so close to laughing, so close to dangerous, dangerous, dangerous, Terezi’s no lowblood but back home, a murder wouldn’t have been looked at twice. Her hand tightens on Terezi’s horn. Terezi’s hands scrabble for purchase on Vriska’s bare back (where did her shirt even  _ go _ ). “Okay, you asked for it.”   
  
Vriska is suddenly and abruptly naked. Thanks, dream bubbles. Terezi whines in the back of her throat, the sound barely a conscious choice, when she smells Vriska’s bulge, writhing and wriggling and only a caste up but somehow so, so much bigger than her own. 

Terezi slides one of her hands around to Vriska’s front to slide her hand along its length, and it’s all she can do not to whimper when it teases up between her fingers and Vriska chokes on a gasp. “You gonna - you gonna take those pants off?” Vriska says. She’s still trying to keep her composure, her grip on Terezi’s horn is still dancing between pain and pleasure, but there’s a level of urgency to her voice now. 

Actions speak louder than words, and yanking your pants down to your knees and rubbing your bulge up against someone else’s is one of the louder actions, Terezi thinks. Vriska seems to agree, if the way she drops down from her hands to her elbows, pressing her face close to Terezi’s chest and grinding her hips down, is any indication. There are a thousand half-formed retorts biting at Terezi’s tongue, but she can’t think past the immediacy of the moment enough to make one leave her mouth. She’s about to get fucked by  _ Vriska Serket.  _ Nevermind the fact that Vriska hasn’t said her first name once this entire time, nevermind the feeling of the rough stone floor pressing into Terezi’s painfully mortal back, nevermind, nevermind, nevermind.

Vriska finally releases Terezi’s horn and brings her hands down to grab Terezi’s thighs and push them apart, wider and wider until Terezi thinks she might break. Her bulge twists in time with her intestines, and she doesn’t need to reach a hand between her legs to know that she’s practically dripping onto the floor. Vriska makes a soft, appraising hum and shoves two fingers into Terezi’s nook.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Terezi gasps. Her breath is already embarrassingly ragged, but at least Vriska doesn’t say anything about it. She just works her fingers in and out, back and forth, her free hand keeping Terezi’s left thigh from jerking closed and her bulge just out, writhing in the air, impatient as Terezi feels. “Okay, okay, c’mon, I’m good, keep going.”

  
Vriska listens, adding a third finger and only letting her nail scratch Terezi gently as she slides it in. “You’re fucking soaked, Pyrope, are you even going to have enough left in you to pail at all?” 

“I - hh, shut  _ up, _ ” Terezi says. She’s a mess and she knows it, hips twisting and pushing up, head and horns driving into the cold floor and hands digging into Vriska’s back in a useless attempt to pull her closer. 

“You ready?” Vriska asks. There’s a smirk in her voice and a desperation in the way her hand tenses on Terezi’s thigh. 

Terezi’s eyes are going to fade away to white if she doesn’t get something more substantial put in her nook  _ now.  _ “Yes, I’m fucking ready, just do it, Vriska.”   


For quite possibly the first time in her life, Vriska listens. She drags her hand out just slow enough to be teasing, rests it on Terezi’s hip (fuck, fuck, it’s dripping wet), and leans down to bite at Terezi’s lips as she works her bulge into Terezi. It’s so much fucking bigger than Terezi thought it would be -  _ fuck  _ \- and it just keeps moving, coiling and uncoiling and pressing up against everything it finds, working deeper and deeper until Terezi thinks she might be at a real risk of splitting in two. 

“Vriska,” Terezi pants, “fuck, fuck, fuck, Vriska, I-”

“Shut  _ up, _ ” Vriska groans. Her last attempts at composure are gone; she’s just breathing hard against Terezi’s cheek and rolling her hips every few seconds. “Just - god.”

Pointless as the action is, Terezi closes her eyes. If she could, she would close her nose and tongue, just so she could devote all of her senses towards what’s happening in her nook, towards the hand Vriska brings from Terezi’s hip to her bulge, towards the way her bulge is rubbing against Vriska’s fingers and she thinks she’s going to fall apart and towards the way her entire body feels like its rushing down, down, down to the space between her legs and falling out of her as she comes harder than she thinks she ever has before. Vriska follows only moments later, and fuck, Terezi hopes that dream bubble matter stays in dream bubbles, because otherwise, her nook is just going to have to be dripping with blue genetic material for the next god knows how long. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Vriska pulls out with an objectively disgusting  _ slorch  _ sound and flops onto her back next to Terezi. “I kind of fucking hate you,” she says. Her voice sounds like it did after an exhausting but rewarding FLARP battle, and the bright, loose, just-had-a-great-orgasm feeling in Terezi’s chest tightens into something a lot closer to sadness. It feels like her entire body is the sudden lump in her throat, and the feeling of genetic material slowly dripping like blue, blue blood from her nook is nausea-inducing.

“Yeah, I hate you too,” Terezi says, but it’s not true, it never has been, and even after this, she doesn’t think it ever can be. 

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: lots of mentions of blood/very light body horror, there's consent but the kismessitude aspect could be read as dubcon
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
